


Infinite Possibilites

by rosalaxy



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, custom hero is reffered to as gadget, i am garbage for infidget okay, infinite needs therapy, most of the angst is at the beginning, the rest is just slow burn fluffy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosalaxy/pseuds/rosalaxy
Summary: Infinite was used. Filled with agony and hatred, he was bitter and cold. Robotnik took advantage of that. Gadget never really wanted to get mixed up into the war, but he was glad he did. He finds out that there's more to Infinite than he first thought. What happens when Infinite is forced to open up and let others help?(nothing too serious, but be aware that there is light blood and injury, references to death, as well as some cursing and probably making out later on, which is why I would rate it 13+. also, characters will be tagged when chapters they show up in are posted.)
Relationships: Avatar | Custom Hero (Sonic Forces)/Infinite (Sonic the Hedgehog)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Infinite Possibilites

The jackal stirred, blinking his eyes open slowly. His mind was cloudy, full of nothing but static and ringing, blurry and scattered. He could see he was on a beach, and he could hear waves against the shore once the ringing in his ears cleared. His memories of...well, anything at all, really, were vague and scarce. Only patches of things would appear, and when he tried to recall beyond what immediately came to him, his head would pound. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the sound of waves and trying to think of something, anything that would calm his nerves and distract him from the literally mind-numbing pain in his chest.

He remembered what a member of the jackal squad once told him. He didn't know who she was, or what the jackal squad was, but the memory gave him a blissful distraction. They were on the beach, how familiar, the sky painted various colors as the sun set and the shore grew dark. She turned to him, a smile plastered on her face; one that didn't reach the eyes. Life is an ocean, she said, and your mind is like the sand. Ideas, wishes, dreams, goals-life can throw a curveball and wash them all away in an instant, leaving you worn down with a whole new view. Eventually, you get used to the waves, people and opinions lapping at your own thoughts, your own intentions. Yet one variable, one splash of water, can change everything.

That splash was none other than Dr. Robotnik, unfortunately, and the salt that stung was Shadow. He could never forget their names. A wave of pain hit him like a hammer, one that he felt could break open his skull and crush his ribs. Don't think about it. Don't think about them. His chest ached, and he cracked open his eyes. Think of something else.

Back to the ocean. He could barely feel it, a few drops of the salty seawater wetting his tail. He was sprawled out across the shore, and he was lucky that he had come to when he did. Who knows how long it would have been until he was underwater, drowned and swept away into the vast ocean. He was sure people wouldn't mind. _They_ wouldn't mind. Another wave of pain. He tried to get up, but it was like his arms were glued to the ground, refusing to move. His legs felt weak, overused. His whole body did, felt sore and worn out. How much had he exerted himself? He felt the throbbing of his chest, the sting of the ocean breeze against his exposed flesh. A paw was held over it, likely there before he fell unconscious. It was stained with crimson.

It seemed as if all of his fur was matted with something, whether it was blood, tears, seawater or maybe even sweat. The heat was almost unbearable, but the jackal was sure that it was only him. He opened his eyes wider, scanning his surroundings. His eyes ended up focusing on the ocean, watching birds fly by and the occasional fish leap out of the sparkling water. However, one thing caught his eye-a blur of silver. His mask. He instinctively reached out an arm before collapsing over into the water. He coughed and sputtered, using all of his strength to hurl himself upwards. He felt dizzy, tired, hot and cold at the same time. He wanted to cry, but he refused. He had to be strong. Another pound against his skull, perhaps from whatever he couldn't recall trying to escape his jumbled brain.

He ran a hand through his hair, finding all sorts of knots and such. Using his fingers, he gently sifted through the sea of ivory, sifting out any dirt or sand that was caught. He felt lucky that no one was on the beach. If someone tried to talk to him, he was scared his migraine would increase or that they might trigger something. He had a feeling that he had done some messed up stuff, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He didn't really want to.

How about his name? Would his mind spare him that? He thought, not too hard, wondering about his name. His identity. He was a jackal, he knew that much, a long haired one. His fur was almost unruly, long to the point where he was fairly sure that was why he seemed to be melting in the heat of the beach. It was unkempt, like he never stopped to groom himself or trim his fur. He noticed the dozens of split ends in his hair as he brushed through it with his fingers, how the knots were old and not caused by laying in the beach-though, that certainly didn't help. He knew he belonged to a pack, at one point. A squad, the jackal squad, and though they weren't related they were family. The thought of it sent mixed feelings; happiness and warmth, while also sadness and cold, harsh feelings. Like icicles, stabbing at him.

He knew what that thought led to, but the still persisting headache convinced him not to follow it. The anger, however, he couldn't ignore. He was angry, filled with rage and sorrow, and agony. Agony, just the word sent a powerful feeling, a surge of energy through his bones. He wasn't stupid, and he could connect the dots. He just didn't want to. More pain, throbbing, cold and hot and sharp and dull and unbearable, make it stop make it stop make it stop-!

He couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks, and though he wanted to sob, he didn't. Breathe. Just breathe, he told himself. Back to you. Don't think about it. You're a jackal, black and white, you have...what color were his eyes? He went to look into the water but he stopped, the sea was too cloudy. Of course. He took in a shaky breath, in and out. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In and out. In, out, in, out. He was calm. He was strong. He would get through this. His eyes, he reminded himself. A paw drifted to his face, resting on his cheek and swiping across his face, drying his tears. He felt a scar over his eye. He chose not to think about that.

After what seemed like seconds and also an hour, he slowly stood up, wobbling on unsteady feet. His tail swished, and he held his arms out for balance. Find a mirror, a clear pool, something. He needed to see his eyes. Looking around, he limped across the sand. He had a limp, his leg probably had a fracture. He was okay. He kept walking, letting the growing darkness be his hood as he searched. He noticed a lot of destroyed buildings and debris, and no one was out. He didn't wonder about who caused it.

Don't think about it. Think about your eyes. He did. The walk was long, and he was thankful for his thick coat of fur. He draped his hair over his shoulders, almost like a blanket. The beach seemed to go on forever, and his limp got worse. He saw a figure in the distance. They seemed to be looking for someone. He was red. Red. Don't think about it.

But he did.

Red, red, red...all he saw was red. He clutched his head, doubling over in pain and letting out cries in pain. The figure noticed. Don't think about it, please, please just let it go. The figure started walking towards him, getting faster when he fell to his knees. Once again, he couldn't stop the tears. Let it end, please, just let it end. Don't think about it, think about anything else. The figure approached him, and while they didn't say anything, they reached out to him. Make it stop. Don't think about the squad, or the doctor, or the hedgehog, either of them. His head pounded. His chest seared with pain. The figure, who appeared to be a wolf, put their paw on his shoulder and kneeled down, looking at him with yellow eyes, yellow eyes covered in glasses. He looked up, barely catching his reflection in the wolf's lenses.

His eyes were yellow and blue. The wolf’s were yellow. Yellow, blue, yellow, yellow, blue, yellow.

He collapsed.

Black.

**Author's Note:**

> haha i made a pun in the name and also im bad at writing sorry,,,i rewrote this like three times and im still not super happy w it but I hope y'all enjoy. more on the way!


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